


A Reasonable Request

by Engineer104



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blue Lions Route, F/M, More Drama than Necessary, Pining, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rare Pairings, a bit - Freeform, crack ship, no beta we die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:35:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22416376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: Manuela devises an excuse to talk to Rodrigue.
Relationships: Manuela Casagranda/Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius
Comments: 10
Kudos: 21





	A Reasonable Request

**Author's Note:**

> yeah I dunno why i wrote this...i just saw art and saw “well i already dig this crack ship might as well do something about it”. but anyway if you do give it a chance please enjoy!

_ “So is there a Duchess Fraldarius?”  _ Manuela tests. Her lips curl into a smirk, right before she dismisses the line as absurd and...well, like something Sylvain Jose Gautier of all people might say. 

“Well, what’s the problem, Manuela?” she demands of her reflection. “You’ve talked to nobles before here and at the opera, so why should this one be any different?”

It’s wartime, her mind supplies. Everything is different in wartime, including priorities, and the latest (and likely most fleeting) object of her affection must keep a long list of things he’d rather be doing than chatting with her. 

No, if she wants to speak with him more...casually than she would at a council meeting or in the infirmary when comparing notes, then she needs a reason. 

Oh. Wait—

* * *

He pays a visit to the infirmary - if only her heart wouldn’t skip a beat at the sight of him standing in the doorway, stupid, silly… - the day after the army returns from their capture of the Bridge of Myrddin. Manuela can’t care less about strategizing for the next stepping stone on the path to Fhirdiad or Enbarr or wherever it is Prince Dimitri pushes them in his addled state, but she can make sure as many of his followers are healthy by then. 

(But for how long after that? Only the goddess knows.)

Felix sits up on a cot, arms crossed and scowl twisting his face. It’s not the most becoming expression for him (despite its regularity), but Manuela understands his frustration. “I feel fine,” he insists for the third time since Ingrid dragged him here. He presses a hand to his forehead and adds, “An imperial soldier just barely hit my head—“

“Head injuries are the most dangerous,” Manuela tells him, sighing. If she had a drink for every time someone took a head injury too lightly she would be far from sober enough to treat them. “Just rest here for tonight, Felix. I’m sure a brief break from your training regimen won’t kill you.”

Felix looks like he’s about to protest that a break can in fact kill him, but his eyes widen when they catch on something beyond her. Manuela spins to find his father standing in the doorway, his hand hovering over the frame as if unsure if he should knock. 

Her heart leaps, right before she dismisses the silly swoop of hope in her abdomen. 

“Lord Rodrigue,” she greets him with a smile she hopes is charming and reassuring. “I suppose you’re here to visit Felix.”

From the way Felix stiffens so visibly, Manuela guesses a visit from Rodrigue is the last thing he wants. She doesn’t know what drama sits between them, but she is sure that she doesn’t want to be in the middle of it. 

(Though if Lord Rodrigue himself asks...she would gladly lend him a sympathetic ear.)

“I...yes, but not for long, I’m afraid,” Rodrigue admits. “How is he?”

“A minor injury to the head,” Manuela says at the same time Felix grumbles, “I can speak for myself.”

She ignores him - if that were true he should’ve come without his friend forcing him - and adds, “He need only spend a night here where I or a helper can watch over him.”

“Good, good.” Rodrigue still hovers in the doorway, and Felix doesn’t look at him or invite him in. 

Manuela stands in the middle of it, her skin itching with a need to relieve the tension. For one she hasn’t witnessed such uncertainty in Rodrigue or such reticence from Felix (not that she can claim to know either of them well despite the latter being a former student), but she forces a smile - easy enough with her background at the opera - and approaches Rodrigue. 

“I can always clear out for a little while,” she says. “It doesn’t have to be me that watches him.”

Rodrigue meets her eyes with a frown. “Then who? Miss von Martriz or Miss Dominic?”

Manuela bites her lip to keep from groaning before ultimately deciding hinting would get them nowhere. “No, I meant you, Lord Rodrigue,” she says, sighing.

He blinks at her in surprise before laughing, a sharp, humorless sound. “I doubt he’d want that,” he admits. “And unfortunately I’m afraid I cannot spare a whole night when others have more expertise.”

“Expertise?” Manuela raises an eyebrow at him. “I daresay you’re as accomplished in white magic as anyone in this army.”

“Not medicine so much,” Rodrigue says with a wry smile, “and House Fraldarius are not known for good bedside manner.”

Manuela wonders if, from the distant look in his eye as he gazes past her at his son, there’s a story in that. It’s at odds with what she knows of him, as a kind and loyal man who cares for Prince Dimitri like his own child. 

Well, maybe not quite like that, she supposes. Isn’t that a devastating thought…

“I should be returning to the knights’ hall,” Rodrigue then says, jerking Manuela from her thoughts. “I will return in the morning?”

“Don’t bother, old man,” Felix responds from his cot. “I’ll be gone before you do.”

Manuela shoots a stern glance at him over her shoulder. “I’ll be the judge of when you leave,” she reminds him. 

“And I told you, I feel—“

“Just listen to Professor Manuela, Felix,” Rodrigue chides him with a sigh. “She’s more knowledgeable than you.”

To her surprise, he doesn’t respond except to frown and stare out the window. 

Manuela turns back to Rodrigue, who hesitates before bidding her goodbye - that’s all he’ll say to Felix too? - and retreating to the hallway. 

Her feet make to follow of their own accord, and she calls after him, “Wait, Lord Rodrigue!”

He turns to face her, raising an expectant eyebrow. “What is it, Professor?”

“Ah, please just call me Manuela,” she says. “I hardly feel like a teacher these days.”

“As you wish then, Manuela,” he says, and she finds she likes the sound of her name from his lips. “I am sorry about him.”

Manuela shrugs. “I’ve treated worse patients,” she admits.  _ Like your prince, _ she adds to herself. “He’s just lucky Ingrid noticed something might be wrong.”

“That sounds like her,” Rodrigue agrees with a fond smile. “You do good work, Manuela.”

“Thank you, Lord Rodrigue,” she says, “but you know, I wonder if I could do better.” She swallows around a sudden lump in her throat, remembering all the patients she’s lost since this damn war began (and even before). 

She almost feels bad when she asks, “You say you’re no expert in medicine, but what of Reason?”

“Reason?” He frowns, apparently surprised by the shift in conversation. “Black magic, you mean?”

“Yes, that!” Manuela clasps her hands behind her back to keep from resting one on his arm. “I’ve never been able to wrap my head around those complex formulas and symbols, but maybe with the right tutor…”

“Oh, I see…” When Rodrigue’s eyes narrow, Manuela’s chest tightens, bracing for disappointment. Of course he’ll say no, make some excuse about not having the time while citing the million tasks that require his attention. “I’m hardly an expert in Reason either, but...I suppose I may be able to spare a half-hour every evening just to assist you in grasping the basics.”

Wait, what?

Manuela’s jaw drops in surprise, but she quickly wipes the shock from her face and schools her expression into something more grateful. Which...isn’t difficult considering how her heart lifts and skips a beat in excitement. “That sounds perfect,” she tells him. 

“Perhaps in return you can teach me some simple medical knowledge?” Rodrigue then suggests. 

Manuela beams. Oh, she can just pass out with delight and walk to her lodgings on air! can her plan actually be working so well? “That sounds wonderful, Lord Rodrigue,” she says. “Tomorrow night after dinner? We can meet in the dining hall.”

“That’s a suitable arrangement.” He nods, and this time the smile he flashes her is more obviously genuine and fills her chest with warmth. 

Oh, these silly feelings. Why must a man make her feel this way? (And why does she have to like it?)

“For now though I really must be going,” Rodrigue says. “Please make sure you get some rest whilst looking after my son.” He offers her a bow before turning and leaving without giving her a chance to summon enough words to reply.

Manuela watches him drift down the hall until he turns a corner and his footsteps fade, so intently that when a nearby door opens on creaking hinges she jumps. 

She spins around to find Hanneman standing in his office doorway, a single bushy eyebrow high above his monocle. 

“What a funny conversation I just overheard,” he observes wryly. “You’ve never asked me to teach you Reason, and I am an expert.”

Manuela scowls and stalks back to the infirmary. “Oh, stuff it, Hanneman.”

“Why the sudden interest, Manuela?”

“Go polish your vials or sketch your Crests or whatever it is you do with your evenings,” she retorts. “I have my own work to do.”

“Right, well, I suppose it’s useless warning you you’re being foolish again.”

“A bit useless!” Manuela hisses, annoyed. Why must Hanneman aggravate her so?

“Don’t come sobbing to me when he can’t give you what you want.”

“Oh for Sothis’ sake Hanneman,” she grumbles, her heart pounding with frustration, “you’re the last person I want emotional support from.” With that she stormed into the infirmary, slamming the door shut behind her so the last thing she saw was his face lined with concern. 

No wonder he has so many wrinkles with how often he frowns…

She breathes hard, staring at the closed door, and flinches when a voice cuts in, “The old man knows even less about black magic than I do.”

Manuela clutches her chest and reassures herself she’s not suffering cardiac arrest. 

**Author's Note:**

> writing fic is just a deceptively productive manifestation of procrastination 
> 
> also Felix gtfo of this fic it was supposed to be about your dad >:(


End file.
